


Incandécadence

by fadewithfury (foxmoon)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bakery, Fake Marriage, Fluff and Humor, Mutual Pining, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Solarpunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-03 05:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13334103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmoon/pseuds/fadewithfury
Summary: The Doctor and Rose must disguise themselves as a married couple to stake out a bakery in an enchanting futuristic setting, so they can catch a war criminal wanted by the Shadow Proclamation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by a real life friend of mine. <3

The Doctor tossed the green interdimensional crystal into the air. Rose’s eyes were on him, so naturally he caught it with a flourish. He’d just left the Shadow Proclamation headquarters after responding to a sub-frequency emergency request whilst Rose slept. Now that she had awoken and joined him in the console room, he filled her in on the details of their next mission.

An intergalactic arms dealer had tipped off the Judoon that she was scheduled to meet with a notorious historical war criminal. Aside from it being a generally bad idea for a war criminal to procure deadly weapons, the target in question planned to purchase weapons for a war that had already taken place. A war in which his regime had been thoroughly defeated.

“So Borvil must’ve somehow traveled—”

“Borvil?” Rose yawned. She sat in her pyjamas on the jump seat, hair fluffed and face still rosey-warm from slumber. No mug of tea in her hands, which indicated that she hadn’t even stopped by the galley before she paid him a visit. There’d been a time when she wouldn’t reveal this unkempt side of herself to him. It felt suspiciously domestic, and he tried to ignore the odd pull in his chest that suggested it meant something deeper.

“The war criminal from the Telkar system that lived three hundred years ago, do keep up.”

Rose glared. “Hey, just woke up.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Well, crack on then.”

“Anyway. He must’ve traveled in time in order to procure advanced weapons with the intention of altering the course of history. His regime would then be able to squash the rebellion that’s meant to rise up and defeat it, which could cause untold chaos to the timelines of multiple space-faring civilizations. Strictly against article 23 of the Shadow Proclamation, and an abundance of other Time Lord temporal ethics codes.” He sniffed, resisted the urge to mutter something passive-aggressive to himself, and continued, “they want me to take care of it seeing as how I’m the only one with a TARDIS who could track him down.”

“And what’s that for?”

“Prisoner transport crystal.” He tossed the crystal again, but this time fumbled his catch. It bounced off his forearm and he stumbled forward so that it landed in his open palm. “I, ah, suppose I owe them a favour or two.”

Rose sucked in a breath. “What happens if you drop it?”

He held up the small, multi-faceted crystal in the light of the central column. “Nothing I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Well, I have been tossing it a fair amount and nothing’s happened yet.”

Rose rolled her eyes with a slight grin. “‘Kay, how’s it supposed to hold prisoners, then? D’you just say a magic word and they pop into it?”

“It’s primed with the suspect’s unique DNA. Just have to touch him with it and voila.”

“Oooo. So what’ll it be then, seventy-third century lava world? That creepy planet where all the space pirates meet for croquet?” She sat forward, rapt for potential danger, which quite frankly concerned him, but more than anyone else, he understood the adrenaline rush that sort of adventure brought was proper addictive.

“Incandécadence! A world renowned pâtisserie in Paris on Avenue des Champs-Élysées—”

Rose’s eyes widened. “Oh, God, that’s even more dangerous than the lava planet! I’ll eat every macaron in one go.”

“—in December, 2212. There’s no specific date, just month and year.”

“‘Kay. That’s—I mean—so we’re to spend a whole month staking out at a bakery? I can feel my waistline growing just thinking about it.”

“Yep. But we’ll be too busy fulfilling orders during one of the busiest seasons to indulge.” He shoved the crystal into his pocket and turned to the console. “It has a tearoom where presumably the meeting’ll occur. Tearooms will be the meeting place du jour for affluent ladies, much like it had been when it first opened in the 19th century. There’s bound to be some interesting gossip.”

Rose joined him at the console with a laugh. “More like plotting revolutions. Come on, Doctor, you know better.”

“Sorry—though to clarify, our friend the arms dealer fancies posing as an affluent lady of the time simply there for the gossip in order to blend in. Mind pushing that over there?” He pointed to an orange-tipped lever sticking up from the console.

She followed his request, and likely out of habit, reached for the toggle which would come next in sequence. But the Doctor had also reached for the same toggle seconds before, which meant Rose had just rested her hand on top of his. He smiled, and a few heartbeats skipped quite perceptibly.

“Aha, you remembered,” he said, soft and admiring.

She withdrew her hand and kept her gaze shifted from him. Her blush stood out even in the greenish glow of the central column.

“Go on, what comes next?”

She ducked around him to reach for a set of buttons on the other side. “This one and that one at the same time?”

“Right-o.”

“Forgot what comes next. This part’s different every time.”

He took over, and made the appropriate relative trajectory adjustments. “You need a bit of time sense for it, no matter. There, you’re set to finish it off.”

She pulled down the large handle, and the TARDIS left the time stream for their destination. Once they landed, the Doctor turned toward Rose and leaned back against the console.

“So, just to warn you, this era’s a bit of a mess, Rose. Quite literally—New York, London, Tokyo, many major cities had to be totally rebuilt. Earth’s still recovering from Dalek occupation, so they are not in the mood for offworlders. That’s why we’re on the case—well, I blend in enough. But the fun bit is the futuristic tech like solar powered cars and computers with floating displays all mixed up with late nineteenth century etiquette and modesty standards. They’re big on sustainability and romanticizing simpler times.”

“Mmm. I’ll go find something in wardrobe.” She started off to the corridors.

“Can’t say I’ve collected too many garments from this time. Try turn of the 20th century, Art Nouveau section, that should do it. Hang on - cuppa first?”

A grin slid across her face. “Oh—blimey—yeah.”

“You could also use a bit of a wash.”

Her brow furrowed in adorable indignation. “Oi!”

“Meet you in the galley in twenty?”

“Thirty just for that, and my tea better be ready when I get there.”

“Yes, sarge.” He saluted.

She flashed a grin, recognizing the shared memory, and he swore it carried through in the bounce of her steps as she retreated down the corridor.

 

**

 

After their shared cuppa in the galley and a lengthy rummage through the TARDIS wardrobe, Rose stepped out to a lane between two buildings. Sweet smells of sugar-dusted pastries and fruit compote wafted from a window over her shoulder. She breathed it in for a dreamy moment, until something faraway and scorched joined the scent. Just how long had it been since the Daleks burnt the cities down? She surveyed her surroundings, but found no overt indication of destruction.

A row of rental bikes, or so they appeared, were lined up side-by-side across from her. They had beautifully artistic frames depicting dragonflies and other insects, and no wheels. And like insects, they hovered, latched to a glowing strand of energy. She smiled in fascination and forewent the Doctor’s suggestion to stay in the TARDIS until he had finished securing their employment. He should be finished with all of that by now anyway—wouldn’t hurt to get on with things.

The bustle of foot traffic and passing vehicles greeted her ears, the latter arousing an awkward sense of displacement for she looked like she’d just stepped out of an early episode of _Downton Abbey_. Women adorned with long skirts and embroidered blouses strolled alongside the avenue, children or baskets at their arms. Men wore hats and tipped them gallantly as they exchanged greetings with passers by.

Rose approached the edge of the alley and hid behind decorative foliage, that grew in abundance along the rows of buildings, to watch a woman who appeared to be hailing a cab. It hovered gently down to the curb from somewhere above, and the doorway hinged open like a drawbridge to allow her to climb into a seat of plush cream velvet. The cars weren’t just solar powered, they flew! And they were gorgeous. Intricate, flowing designs adorned the vehicle, and stained glass windows afforded the passengers a spot of privacy. Everything around her had a similar magical flair. Buildings, benches, lampposts, all echoed a reverence for the elegance of nature, as though they’d kidnapped Alphonse Mucha from the past and asked him to design a futuristic world.

She stepped up to the pâtisserie entrance and saw her reflection in the glass of the green framed doors. A smile crept to her face—she didn’t look half bad. She touched an ivory broach at her neck and the cream lace of her collar. Maybe the Doctor would notice, if women in pretty dresses with blonde hair up in combs were his thing. The smile vanished. _Oh, Rose, not now._

She couldn’t delve too far into that particular memory before the door burst open with a jingle. “Rose! There you are,” the Doctor said, and gave the scenery behind her a surreptitious glance.

“Here I am.”

His eyes settled on her for a drawn out beat. “Hello.” After a blink, he grasped her by the hand to quickly whisk her through a long, verdant, gold-trimmed boutique, past the gold leaf encrusted display counter burgeoning with sweets, between ornate columns, and into a secluded hall at the back of the salon.

“What’s the matter, Doctor?” she said along the way, but his answer didn’t come until they were securely alone near the kitchens.

“So, here’s the thing…” He scratched the back of his head. “We’ve got the job, no trouble there, however, ehm…”

“What? What is it, Doctor? Oh, don’t tell me they got the date wrong.”

“No, no, this is right. It’s just—we’re—that is, you and I—we’re sort of, well,” he tugged at his ear and scrunched up his face as his voice rose an octave. “Married?”

Rose stared, and at once felt glued to the spot yet wildly untethered. “O—oh?”

“Blame it on the psychic paper. But yes, it was apparently the best way to convince them to hire us. I’m a famous pastry chef from Beauvais and you’re my assistant, who also happens to be my new wife. Rebuilding efforts with the new solar-enriched infrastructure are well underway in Paris, and we’re ready to raise a family.” He adjusted his collar as he paced before her.

“Blimey,” she said, breathy. “Psychic paper said all that did it?”

“Weeellll,” he tilted his head with a squint. “Err… some elaboration was in order. We’ve moved here and need temporary lodging so they offered the guest room upstairs. They insisted upon it, and etiquette dictates that I must accept or they’ll think I’m rude—and I’m striving not to be rude, so that settled it.”

Her cheeks grew warmer with every detail. They had to pretend to be married for potentially an entire month in a pastry shop in Paris, the city of romance. Not only that, but they had to share a cozy room in this enchanting atmosphere. Her imagination took flight. The two of them cooped up by the warmth of the ovens, him helping to tie on her apron, leaning in close to perfect details on each pastry. She bit her lip to rein in a smile. He’d certainly freak out more than he already was if it appeared as though she were keen on this idea.

“So what, we’re a high society baking duo? Can we eat the leftover eclairs? Ooo, I want to decorate the cakes!”

He made an apologetic face. “No. It didn’t work out that way, I’m afraid. You, ah, work the counter.”

“Ugh! Customer service? Every bloody time, Doctor!” She put her hands on her hips. “Why d’you get all the glory?”

The Doctor stopped pacing to stand directly before her. He rested a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Rose. I know it’s not the most pleasant ruse, and admittedly embarrassing. Bonkers, that—Married? Pssh,” he swiped the idea away with an exaggerated gesture. “But it’s not for long.”

That put an instant stopper on the wild musings of her heart. He probably had never entertained that she could be anything more to him than a mate, and here she was letting her fantasies take flight. Clearly she’d gotten things wrong. She looked down to pick at a loose bead on the hemline of her bodice.

“S’fine. Whatever.” When the prickle in her eyes subsided, she sniffed and looked up at him. “Have we got French names then?”

“Monsieur Jean and Madame Rose Lefeuvre.”

“Lefeuvre,” she repeated, getting the feel for it on her tongue.

His fingers grazed down her arm as he withdrew his hand. She shivered, gooseflesh inevitable. “Naturally it’s the French equivalent of John Smith,” he said.

“It’ll do.” She gave a half-hearted shrug, and rubbed her arm where the impression of his touch still lingered. “So what’s married look like then? How progressive can they be if they’ve got nineteenth century ‘etiquette and modesty’ standards?”

“I doubt anything preformative would be expected from us.”

Right. Rose took a deep, calming breath. Her attention, tugged by the buttery, yeasty, sweet-laden fragrance, shifted toward the kitchens nearby. An older black woman with a kerchief over a thick cloud of gray hair entered to finish up a festive bûche de Noël.

“That’s Adelphine Bernard, the owner’s wife,” the Doctor said, hands clasped behind his back. “She’s going to give me a run for my money here. My technique’s a little rusty.”

“Aha! There you are,” came a voice from behind.

Rose turned toward the source, glad for the interruption, a warm smile already on her lips. An older black man approached them from the salon. He was plump with kind eyes, the sort of man that children might mistake for Father Christmas if he wore enough red.

“Bonjour, Monsieur.” Rose performed an awkward curtsy, making her first assumption about social interactions.

“Please, call me Ezio. You must be Madame Lefeuvre- enchante,” he kissed her hand. “It is such an honour to have your exceptionally skilled husband in our employ. He has also spoken at length of your many talents.”

Rose straightened and shot the Doctor a supremely curious look. “I should like to hear about that myself.”

The Doctor, who’d been statuesque for the past couple moments, suddenly burst into motion. He looped his arm through Rose’s and patted hers approvingly. “Oh, but I tell you every chance I get already, don’t I?”

“About my talents or yours?”

Ezio laughed. “I like you already, Madame Lafeuvre. Would you mind assisting me at the counter? This is a slow time of day, so it a good time for me to show you the ropes.”

“I’d be delighted,” Rose said.

“Merveilleux! Find your server apron in the closet there and join me.” Ezio headed away from them toward the boutique area.

Once he was out of earshot, Rose turned to the Doctor. “What if our target pops in while I’m up there? What does he look like?” She went to the closet for her apron, and he joined her.

“I haven’t a clue, but the arms dealer would be dressed upper class, and has lavender skin with white hair, though she may do something to disguise herself here. Humans became very xenophobic of offworlders after the Dalek invasion.”

“Ah, prejudice in the human race, that’s nothing new. I should hold on to the prison crystal, yeah? Since you’ll be back here.”

He looked conflicted for a moment before finally fishing it from his pocket and placing it in her hand. “It won’t work on anyone but the target, so if you get it wrong make it look like you tripped or something. Let me know immediately if something arouses your suspicion.”

“Got it.” She tied the apron at the back of her neck and smoothed it out over her dress. “Wish me luck, darling.”

He smiled. “Bonne chance.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my RL friend for the beta!

After the pâtisserie had closed for the night, Adelphine showed the Doctor and Rose to their shared lodging above the shop. A small, one room flat that burgeoned with plants and blossom-embroidered artisan furniture. It rather conjured a _Where the Wild Things Are_ feel, minus the wild things. The Doctor set Rose’s luggage down by the door.

“Oh, now this is brilliant!”

Rose tapped his arm in excitement. “S’like that kid’s book!”

“Ha! I thought the same thing.”

Rose crooked her fingers into claws. “I’ll eat you up!”

He growled at her in return.

Adelphine laughed nervously. “Oh my. I don’t know what you’re on about, but please wait until I leave.” She pressed a stained-glass butterfly perched on the finger of a statue, and a spherical display blinked to life above what had first appeared to be a large, antique radio. A documentary film about the Dalek destruction of Paris resumed from the last time the interface had been activated.

The Doctor stared through the display, catching the shape of Rose on the other side. He sensed her horror and curiosity, and knew he’d have more to explain about the invasion later. Instinctively, he moved toward her. She lifted her eyes to him, but Adelphine stepped in the way with a great frown.

“Dreadful.” She waved her hand to change the programme. “Anyway, there’s your digital entertainment. Books and games are in the common room down the hall. Room should be charged up for the night, but we’ve had a broken panel on the roof and sometimes the meter’s off.”

The Doctor looked up through thin branches toward the ceiling at the mention of the solar panels. “I can help you with that, if you like.”

“Wonderful! I’ll tell Ezio—it’s been like that for _months_.”

The Doctor returned his attention to Rose. She stood in the middle of the room, gaze trailing over every detail. The floating interface sphere and the little kitchenette with fresh herbs in the windowsill invoked her smile. A leafy bookshelf with no books, but plenty of porcelain figures received a nose-wrinkle. He assumed the daybed, its frilly duvet and more pillows than one needs in a lifetime might get a cheeky remark, but she stared contemplatively instead.

“Does the bed fold out or something?” she asked.

“No, dear. You’ll have to cuddle up. Though that shouldn’t be too much trouble for a couple of newlyweds like you.” Adelphine smiled wistfully at them.

The Doctor felt Rose’s attention on him, however discreet, and cleared his throat. “No trouble at all,” he said as convincingly as he could considering the huge lump in his throat.

“Do let me know if you need more blankets. Tea tins are in the cabinet; help yourself.” She then bid them good night as she closed the door.

Rose stood there, gaze unfocused. He knew that look: she’d retreated into her mind. A place he dared not, but longed to go. Time compressed, wove into a suffocating knot. A dense collection of emotions threatened to strangle him if he continued to ignore the magnitude with which he wanted to touch her. Every sweet moment with her that could have been even more vivid if they shared a mental link. _If they even could_.

“Well. I’ve been called many things, but _newlywed_ is a new one,” he said to disperse the awkwardness that had overcome them both, though he wasn’t sure if it helped.

A remarkable pink tinge arose in her cheeks. She fidgeted with her dress. “Yeah, and we’ve sort of cuddled before, yeah?”

He sniffed and tried to evade the barrage of _those_ memories by focusing on the foliage surrounding them. “Speaking of cuddling, there’d be a lot more room in this flat if there weren’t so many trees. Think of all the bugs! Erm, no offense.” He patted the narrow trunk of the nearest weeping fig tree. “Oh, but you should see what they do with trees on Ullerith. Massive cathedral-like structures are created by gently and patiently guiding their branches and vines over hundreds of years. Almost no dwellings exist that don’t involve tree-shaping of a sort.”

Rose began to move the throw pillows from the bed to a small papasan in armfulls. He might’ve heard a defeated sigh, but he tried not to presume too much. She blew the fringe from her face when she was done. “Blimey, never seen so many pillows, have you? Givin’ mum’s friend Marge a run for her money.”

The Doctor snorted with amusement. “There’s entire villages on Tesska IV made of pillows. Bit hard to walk around but at least it’s comfy if you fall.” He eyed the cleared-off bed, a small whirl of panic entering his stomach. “Ehm, I’ll head back to the TARDIS once they’ve turned in for the night. Got some repairs to do in the engine room from our last trip.”

Something forlorn passed through Rose’s expression before she turned from him and sought out the window in the kitchenette. A long, aching silence stretched between them where nothing moved but the breath through their lungs.

“Can see the whole avenue from here,” she said at last, softly. “Either the Seine’s flooded or they’ve let it go back to a marshland. It’s quite beautiful actually.”

“Probably the latter. This era’s all about following nature’s lead.”

Rose touched the jasmine vines on the windowsill to bring their fragrant blooms closer to her nose. “Y’don’t have to stay. I know you’ve got those repairs and I can settle in on my own.”

He paused mid-sit before the papasan, and not because it had just been buried under a mountain of pillows. She wanted him to go? Perhaps this marriage charade brought her more unease than he anticipated. Perhaps he should’ve just kept it simple—the psychic paper had only mentioned that _he_ was a pastry chef in need of a job. Given that Rose was with him, he couldn’t very well leave her out of the disguise. And Ezio had asked so many questions! He rubbed his brow.  

“They’re not asleep yet; I hear them moving about. Don’t want them to wonder why your husband is sneaking off in the middle of the night.”

“What a gentleman.”

He scoffed. “I _am_ a gentleman, thank you very much.”

“You’re something.” Her cheeky smile reassured him, somewhat. She went for her luggage and pulled out a white cotton nightgown. The long, semi-sheer material fluttered softly as she held it up to herself.

“Going for full time period immersion? I like it.” the Doctor remarked.

“You can thank the TARDIS for it. Looks a bit naff if you ask me.” She inspected the ivory ribbon that threaded through the lace on the straps.

“Nah. Not on you, it won’t.”

Rose turned her smile away from him. “Anyway, better than this stuffy dress.”

The Doctor averted his eyes as she stepped behind a modesty divider screen to change. Soft whispers of silk and chiffon followed, and tiny plinks of beads tapped the floor. He counted the stars he’d visited and how many miles lay between each until he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

She stepped out tying a pale blue silk robe at her waist. “Tea?”

“Please.”

There was a clinking of mugs, and the stovetop turned on with a click. The Doctor slipped his hands in his pockets and went to inspect the television. “In the meantime, we could, ah, see what sort of programmes entertains twenty-third century earth. Did you know there was a solid decade where infomercials were all the rage?”

“Could be worse. Could be a century-long obsession with reality TV,” she said with her back to him. The kettle reached a boil almost instantly. Rose selected lavender-infused black tea from the tins.

“Of all things,” he mused, watching her. Strange how the squeezing sensation in his chest was just as strong when she selected spoons as it was when she saved planets. He swallowed and looked down at his feet. “Though that’s not far from the truth, if you recall.”

She turned to him, stirring sugar into a mug of tea. “I’d be happy if I never see another one again.”

“Mm. I don’t blame you a bit.”

“Go on then, have a seat.”

The Doctor pushed pillows to the floor and plopped down in the cushy papasan. When she handed him the mug, their fingers brushed. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, and he always maintained strong telepathy barriers in her presence, but he sensed the flutter of her thoughts in her touch. Evoked by carefully curtained emotions, soft and precious, but strong. It ached for…something. Someone. Gooseflesh prickled over his arms despite his many layers of clothing.

She climbed in next to him carefully as to not spill her mug, seeming not to notice he’d been affected. “Right, so how d’you work this thing?” She waved at the spherical interface and it spun rapidly through several channels.

He blinked. “Um. Like that, but slower.”

They settled for a mini series based on a book that had been written just prior to the Dalek invasion. Carefree adventure wove through a philosophical arc about human nature and love. On the edges loomed a pining for those days, as though its director and actors had a difficult time occupying the mindset of one who lived before the attacks began.

“S’weird, innit? We’re watching a programme about the past in the future when the past is also the future. I mean, I know we’ve watched stuff like that before, but it always feels surreal, yeah? I dunno.” She pulled pins from her hair, and raked her fingers through the strands.“S’pose that’s normal for you.”

“Rather so.”

They watched on for a bit longer until they ended up arranged with her head resting against him and his arm draped behind her on the papasan. He kept his attention on the programme, but as the honey-slow romance began to pool between the two main characters, he became more interested in the woman right next to him. Her rapt eyes blinked slowly, and she bit her fingernail. Without needing to touch her at all, he knew where her thoughts had headed. Humans and their subconscious tendency to superimpose themselves in the stories they consume. But if that were so—who did she envision herself with?

“Doctor?”

He startled. “What?”

“How did it all happen?”

“Ehm… well. The more they held back, the greater their love grew until it ate away at them and they had to either part ways for good or just, you know, give in and go live on the moon together.”

She sat up and smiled at him amusedly. “Not that. The Dalek invasion.”

“Oh.” He loosened his tie in hopes that would help loosen the knot in his throat.

She continued, however with less humour. “I just thought, you know, wouldn’t you be around to stop it then?”

“I didn’t discover it linearly. It had already begun by the time the TARDIS took me here, and my travelling companions had witnessed the carnage, so you know how that goes. Locked the timeline into place. We spent a long time with the rebellion. Fighting, strategizing, infiltrating… and after a truly spectacular volcanic explosion at the centre of London, the Daleks were defeated.” He looked down, recalling the final memories with his granddaughter during those times. It had torn him apart to leave her behind, but she had found love and everything she ever wanted. Her true happiness. How could he deny her that?

Rose took his hand and and stroked her thumb over his wrist. She didn’t say anything, but he knew from her furrowed brow that she wanted to know far more than she let on. He appreciated her discretion.

“Was a long time ago,” he uttered, watching the soft movement of her thumb.

The programme ended, and after idling for a few moments, the display sphere vanished. Little fairy lights appeared over their heads and twinkled down like stars through leaves and vines.

Rose looked up. “Feels like we’re on another planet. Or some faroff resort.”

“Aw, this is nothing. I’ll take you to Ullerith after this, now _that_ is how you live in harmony with nature.”

She smiled. “The one with the tree-shapers?”

“The very one.”

She rested her head back against him and kept ahold of his hand. “S’not so bad, is it?”

“What?”

“I mean, it’s only been a day.”

“I wouldn’t want to do it forever.”

She sighed softly. “I know.”

“...Would you?”

It took a while for her to respond. He thought she might’ve fallen asleep, when finally she spoke. “Maybe. I guess I always thought I might someday. It’s daft.”

“Really?” He searched his brain for any conversation where she’d mentioned a desire of becoming a pâtissier. She had mentioned fine arts before, and wistful dreams of going to an arts university, but never this. Guilt fell over him. He’d been selfishly keeping her from her dreams. Even if she was okay with it all, even if she _loved_ it, she could regret it someday.

“Are they asleep yet?”

He looked upward. “Yes.”

“Now’s your chance, yeah?” She stood and held out her hand to help him up.

He took her hand, but didn’t let it go once he’d risen to his feet. “I’ll wake you in the morning.”

She glanced toward the papasan and seemed on the verge of speaking, but it never came. Instead she closed her eyes and smiled, then took a deep breath and looked up at him through her lashes.

“Night, Doctor.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rose startled awake from a persistent crescendo of knocks at the door. She groaned and pulled the duvet over her head. It had taken her forever to fall asleep—not even the gentle ambiance of the city from her open window had helped. But the bed had turned out to be one of the most comfortable she’s ever slept in, second only to the TARDIS, and now she’d rather stay in place.

“Roooose,” the Doctor crooned through the door.

“It’s still dark outside,” she whinged.

“It’s six. Shop just opened—no sign of anyone yet.”

“Ughhhh.” Rose dramatically tossed the duvet aside. A brisk morning chill from the window roused her further, giving her the motivation to slide on her silk robe and shuffle to answer the door. A yawn claimed her the moment she pulled it open.

“Hullo Rose!” the Doctor beamed at her and rocked on his heels.

His keen lack of grogginess made her want to slam the door in his face, but it surprised her to see him in something other than the brown suit. Instead, he sported a white chef’s tunic with rows of buttons down his slim torso, an _Incandécadence_ logo stitched smartly on the pocket. A lopsided chef’s hat covered his hair save for the little feathery strands that stuck out by his ears - which she’d like to run her fingers through. He already had a sort of harried look about him. Patches of flour dappled his face and apron. He’d been hard at work, if he even slept at all.

He took one indeterminable look at her disheveled state. “Your shift starts soon.”

“Of course it does,” she said with a sigh. “M’not gonna make it on time. Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve assured them that you’re an expert and worth the wait. Ezio’s a bit slow himself this morning. Well, let’s get a move on.” He left the door open as he turned to leave.

An expert? Worth the wait? He should be glad that she was too sleepy to process the weight of those words.

Delicious smells wafted up the stairwell and curled around her in a transparent cloud of decadence. Her stomach growled. Muffled café chatter sharpened to a higher pitch, and then dropped back off as the Doctor passed into the pâtisserie below. Rose slowly closed the door. Sleep had tempered the heaviness in her heart, but now it returned full force. Not bothering to make her bed, she gathered her clothing—a long skirt and pretty blouse over which she would wear her white server’s smock—and headed to the loo down the hall.

Rose was twenty minutes late by the time she made it downstairs to start her shift. Ezio gave her a stern look, but appeared too distracted to do anything more. She remembered her routine at least: work the display counter in the morning, and wait tables in the salon for the tea time rush. A truly brilliant _two hour break_ would follow in the afternoon, with another salon shift to round off her day. Not so bad, yeah?

Or so she thought. Whilst she’d eaten many pastries in her day, she couldn’t answer the onslaught of questions with much authority. Which mille-feuille is best for Christmas tea? ( _Any of them?)_  Which pastry would you give as a Wakening present? ( _What is a ‘Wakening?’_ ) Where are your fancier macarons? ( _There are fancier macarons?!)_

Rose navigated the best she could based on how the various pastries looked, or their flavours, but it had to be painfully obvious that she was not the expert that the Doctor touted her to be. One man rolled his eyes at her inability to name the original village in which the a specific style of pastry was invented, as though that would deter his purchase. Ezio had given her a cheat sheet, the official poetic descriptions of each pastry, but she felt self conscious about having to read it aloud instead of it pouring off her tongue as it did for the other server. Despite it all, she managed to get through it without too many sceptical looks.

When another server arrived to relieve her of display counter duties, Rose ducked behind a green marble pillar and tried to quell the cresting sense of inferiority. They had to’ve seen through the disguise to the estate girl underneath. She couldn’t pretend with confidence like the Doctor could, even if it wasn’t always earned.

Thinking of the Doctor made her wonder how he’d been getting on. She peered beyond the glass of the kitchen doors where he enveloped a large, flattened square of something pale yellow - butter? - in a slightly larger sheet of smooth dough, and rolled it out only to fold and roll over again. Deep dimples formed in his cheeks as he focused on his task, reminding her of when he’d tinker intently with some alien machine or another.

Blimey, he really did know what he was doing, though she didn’t recall him ever baking on the TARDIS before. As old as he claimed to be, he no doubt had all manner of skills tucked in his brain. She smiled on impulse when the chef’s hat slipped off the Doctor’s head from all the determined rolling and folding.

“Save your sweet looks for afternoon break, we’ve got a busy salon.” Ezio said, startling her. He laughed good naturedly at her bright blush, and clapped her on the shoulder. “You did well this morning, just try to be on time.”

She entangled a strand of hair in her fingers sheepishly, then tucked it behind her ear. “Yeah, sorry about that.” His compliment gave her a spot of relief that perhaps she hadn’t been too terrible.

Ezio rubbed his sternum, and exhaled. His normally dark brown skin had taken on a grayish hue, and his expression pinched ever so slightly, as though he was attempting to hide a great deal of discomfort.

“All right, monsieur?” Rose put her hand on his arm. “Y’look a bit poorly. Is there anywhere you can sit for a mo’?”

“I’m fine, dear, just a bit of indigestion.” Ezio waved her concern, and turned on his good-natured smile. “Here you go, my dear.” He placed a silver bar in her hand and pressed one end. A holographic screen slipped out from the long edge. “I know it’s rubbish high tech, but it has vastly improved our order taking.” After a quick tutorial through the device, Ezio left her to her task.

The salon swiftly filled with patrons, eager for a chance to relax with coffee and a chocolate eclair. Rose drifted from table to table, the device enabling her to send orders to the kitchen without leaving the salon proper. Conversations melded together around her. She kept an ear out for anything suspicious, or salacious, as she charmed her way through the guests to take their orders.

At one point, a worried Adelphine hurried through the salon with a disgruntled Ezio, but there were too many distractions, and Rose lost track of where they’d headed or what had happened. None of the other servers, who were technically supposed to be her responsibility to manage, had no idea what happened either.

Whilst she refilled the coffee cups belonging to a trio of important-looking men in fancy suits, the shop door opened to reveal a woman with white hair that billowed behind her in a phantom breeze. A greek-style band with feathers and pearls circled her head, and an actual purple butterfly flitted over the flowers tucked above one ear. Her gown was equally extravagant, with layers of delicate purple fabrics enrobing her pillowy figure. She glided through the room, inspiring silence from those she passed. The trio of gentlemen for whom Rose had just finished pouring coffee, mysteriously realized they had elsewhere to be, and vacated the table in a flash. The woman claimed their table, and surrounding conversations gradually resumed.

A little alarm bell went off in Rose’s head—this had to be the arms dealer with a dress the hue of her natural skin colour. The woman also somehow defied the laws of earthly physics in a manner Rose couldn’t quite put her finger on. Like a painting come to life, she mesmerized and stirred long forgotten emotions. Anyone who could make themselves look completely human had to be capable of other tricks. Why not also have the ability to charm everyone to the point they ignored that she was peddling death and destruction one table over?

Without realizing her feet had ever moved, Rose found herself standing directly before the woman she’d just been analysing, ready and eager to take her order. “Um. Hello, welcome to Chez _Incandécadence_.”

The woman regarded her curiously, and then smiled. “I haven’t seen you here before, darling.”

Rose felt a funny flutter in her stomach, and an abrupt desire to placate. “Just started yesterday, mademoiselle, but I’ve worked in a pâtisserie most of my life. How may we serve you on this beautiful day?”

“Light tea, if you please. Chamomile tisane, and whichever pastry is your favourite.”

“Oh, I fancy all of them just about.”

The woman laughed behind her hand. “A girl after my own heart. I would like the profiteroles sampler, please.”

Rose turned from her as she put the order into the device in her palm. The moment she lost eye contact, the enchanted sensation disappeared and a more ominous one lingered. She shivered uncomfortably, and added a note to the order, which she knew the Doctor would see in the kitchens. _Think she’s here._

As she moved on to another table, the Doctor emerged from the kitchen and caught her attention. He leant in to whisper when she joined him behind a large potted plant.

“Yep. That’d be her. Nice deducting.”

“She stands out. I mean, rather a flamboyant look, don’t you reckon?” Rose bit her thumbnail as they watched through the wide leaves of the plant.

“It certainly does draw the eye. You should see her true form.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Just don’t think her clients are the type to want attention drawn to themselves.”

A humanoid… thing… with a long, toothy snout entered, and sat across from the woman in question. He had an antenna sprouting from the top of his head, the end of which bobbed a glimmering pink orb.

Rose made a face. “Uhm, nevermind. Why isn’t anyone freaking out about Bob the Angler Fish over there?”

The Doctor watched the arms dealer for a thoughtful moment. “I think she’s charmed everyone not to mind.” He smiled and said a bit dreamily, “Fantastic perception filter she’s got. I thought it was some sort of illusion at first.”

“A perception filter, s’that all? You sure she can’t mess around in my head?”

“Her kind, the Hadassai, are passively telepathic. They can’t do anything but alter your perceptions, but they do enhance this ability with technology.”

“Seems like she can do a lot more than that. I felt like, like… I was attracted to her or whatever.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Rose. Doesn’t mean she’s messing with your head.”

“No, it was different.” She sighed when he leaned on the pillar in something of a suave poise, his attention focused on the lady in purple. “So what happened to Ezio? I saw him and Adelphine leave earlier.”

“Uhh, he wasn’t… he wasn’t feeling well.” Long pause. “So she took him...uhh to hospital.” He blinked slowly and his eyes went unfocused.

“What!? Doctor!” Rose snapped her fingers in front of his face, but his eyes never left the arms dealer.

“Think we should let her in on, on the scheme? We _could_ use her help…I mean, I could go have a chat with her. What d’you think?”

Rose ground her teeth in irritation. “I dunno. Surprised you’re askin’ what I think.”

The Doctor shook his head hazily and slowly turned toward her. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

She pursed her lips and looked to the side. Her mum had once told her that jealousy makes people unattractive. She grabbed him by the hand. “Doctor, listen to yourself. Snap out of it.”

He squeezed her hand between both of his, her touch seeming to help him overcome whatever thrall he’d been under. “Blimey, whatever she has going on is definitely illegal.”

Rose snorted. “You don’t bloody say. She’s selling dangerous intergalactic weapons in broad daylight, of course there’s more to it. Anyway, some husband you are, look at you - ready to chat her up.”

He pulled a face. “Was I? Sorry.” He glanced towards the arms dealer. “I can see through her filter. She probably sensed it and turned it up a few hundred notches.”

“Kay then. Let’s start from the beginning. You said Ezio has gone to hospital. Where does that leave us?”

“Oh. Oh! We’re in charge. Temporarily, but yup. He’s been poorly for some time, Adelphine said.”

“They seriously put us in charge?”

“How hard could it be? You’ve been brilliant out here so far.”

Rose rolled her eyes. No amount of compliments would make up for the fact she was sick of this role. She had saved people’s lives, fought monsters, but when it came to all things mundane, she was still just a shop girl in his eyes. That shouldn’t be the focus now, should it? Ezio’s health mattered more than her stupid pride. She balled her hands into fists.

“Rose, what’s the matter?”

She could see his puppy-dog brown eyes out of the corner of hers, and of course her stomach twisted, but that only reinforced her frustration. “You’re the one with the psychic paper.”

Hurt flickered across his face, though there was also a great deal of confusion.

“All right, Doctor. Why does it think I want to be a server all the time? Why don’t I get a say? I’ve been to other planets! I’m in the future, right now, lookin’ at an alien enchantress and a were..fish, yeah, a werefish, sharing afternoon tea. I destroyed the devil, for crying out loud. You’ve shown me I can do anything, Doctor. But that stupid paper thinks you’re James Bond and ‘m just your Moneypenny.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Erm…” He sighed deeply. “It’s picking up on what other people think. What _others_ need to see in order to believe who we are. I’m sorry, Rose. I, I didn’t realise...”

“M’ absolutely rubbish at this. You should see me out here.” Tears gathered in her eyes. She hated how upset this made her, how upset _he_ made her. “And now Ezio and Adelphine aren’t here, we’ve got to run this place on our own! You made me out to be an expert - worth the wait! Really, Doctor.”

“You are though. I’ve never met anyone who can jump into something completely unknown, and not only get by, but utterly kick my arse at it. It’s because you know people. You care about their individual lives, and it bothers you when you don’t get it right. It matters to you that they feel taken care of. Also - come on, you’re upper level management here, not just some commis waiter.” He winked. “Or a Bond Girl, if you prefer.”

Rose choked on a sob and hastily wiped the flow of tears on her smock. “Shut up. Nothing’s wrong with commis waiters. They’ve got to start somewhere, and Bond is a chauvinist asshole.”

He beamed a wide grin. “See what I mean?”

A laugh escaped despite the stinging in her eyes. To distract herself from the wave of emotion that coiled in her chest, she scanned over the patrons in the salon not too far away in hopes that no one was watching. The arms dealer smiled and made direct eye contact. Unnerved, Rose looked away.

“That’s why I give you those jobs. I can’t do that, I can’t read people like you can. I know a lot of things, but you know people.”

“ _You_ give me the jobs? I thought it was the psychic paper?”

His eyes widened. “It, ehm…” He gave a defeated sigh. “Yes, sometimes it is. Also, there are loads of times that it says very little, you’ve seen it in action. And you’ve picked your role numerous times now that I think on it.”

“So hang on, Doctor. What did it say to Ezio then?”

“It, ehm…” He looked up as though mulling over whether to elaborate now or later, and looked over her shoulder in convenient alarm. “She’s leaving.”

“Well, go catch her—but you owe me a chat later.”

“Yes, boss,” he said as he hurried off, taking large strides to reach the arms dealer before she made it to the exit.

Rose hung back in the shadow of a statue of some goddess so that she could simultaneously keep an eye on the salon and the conversation unfolding by the door. The arms dealer offered her hand to the Doctor in greeting. He planted a kiss upon it, and they launched into banter like old mates, though Rose was sure they hadn’t really spoken before.

A patron flagged her down to take their order, and she didn’t acknowledge it until they snapped their fingers. “All right, all right.” She continued to watch the Doctor distractedly as she took the increasingly frustrated person’s order. The arms dealer waved her over. She finished with the patron and joined them hesitantly.

“Rose, this is Lady Chantelle Jolicoeur—”

“She may call me Telja,” Lady Chantelle, or Telja, said, twirling a lock of hair. She leaned in to softly add, “That’s my _real_ name.”

Rose smiled politely, but still felt rather uneasy. And again, a little bit coy. “Hi.”

“Hello again, love. Tell me why does he have you out here working the tables? You’ve a reputation out in the stars for far greater things.”

“I do?” Rose blinked and exchanged a glance with the Doctor. “Um. M’ good at it, I reckon.”

“That’s all right, otherwise I might not’ve met you.” She smiled demurely.

That curious flutter in Rose’s stomach returned, and she blushed. The earlier unease went mysteriously forgotten. “So what do they say exactly?”

The Doctor cleared his throat. “Telja—”

“—I said _she_ can call me Telja. It’s Lady Chantelle to you. Nothing personal about it, of course.” She looked at her fingernails.

The Doctor’s lip curled ever so slightly. “This is my wife, Rose Lefeuvre.” He grasped her hand and twined their fingers together tightly.

Rose jumped a bit in surprise and looked at the Doctor as if he had cotton candy for hair.

“Oh! She’s your wife! How quaint.”

“Actually, I’m Rose Tyler, and that’s the Doctor. We were sent here by the Shadow Proclamation to assist you with a particular client of yours,” Rose said as she untangled the Doctor’s hand from hers. His confused reaction would be dealt with later - she was not going to let him be _that_ kind of husband, even if it was all for show.

The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked a bit shamefaced. He nodded when he was introduced, but didn’t interject as he normally might’ve.

“I suspected as much. Neither of you batted an eye when I blocked the filter so you could see the Pelsarian at my table.” She laughed, and waved her hand dismissively at the Doctor and Rose’s exchange of glance. “Oh, don’t worry about that one. He was purchasing a weapon from the T’varoosh War - a harmless museum artefact. Now, Borvil, the fellow you’re after, is a truly abhorrent fellow indeed, and I should know. I’ve dealt with quite a few terrible clients in my day.”

“Yet this is the only one bad enough in your opinion to be dealt with by the Shadow Proclamation?” Rose asked.

Telja’s eyebrows lifted in part indignation and part fascination. “I hope you keep this one around for a long time, Doctor. I’ve heard you go through assistants like I go through wives.”

The Doctor glared flatly at her. “Can we work out a plan or are we just going to stand around flapping haughtily at each other all day?”

“Anyway, Borvil uses a stolen vortex manipulator, and it is broken so only takes him to where other time travellers have been. It reads the time contrails, in a sense. To actually jump he has to use some machine on his home planet as a power source, which he doesn’t have access to regularly. So he’s likely been searching for a time signature and once he finds one, he’ll work out when to jump. I told the Shadow Proclamation to tell you to come here at this time window, knowing he would track your signature to this point. I’ve met him before, so I’ll keep the filter off of him for you.” She held up a device, likely her client meeting scheduler, and on the screen was a photo of the fellow in question.

“Blimey, he’s a desperate bugger ain’t he?” said Rose.

“And dangerous, the worst combination,” the Doctor added.

“Now, if you both don’t mind, I’ve got somewhere to be. Salut!”  


***

Outside the kitchen, the Doctor found a little patio with a table and chairs, and beyond that, a large courtyard where the surrounding buildings shared gardens and a meandering pathway. He began to sit at the table, ready to rest his sore feet, when he noticed Rose beneath the curtain-like branches of a willow tree off to the side of the courtyard. He rolled his ankles to attempt to waken them, then headed over to her. The nearer he approached, he could see that she held the green jail stone in her palm, but had her gaze locked on the water fountain nearby. He pushed aside willow branches and caught her attention.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hullo.” He sat next to her. “How d’you like these two hour breaks?”

“Oh, they’re brilliant. But look at this place! I could wander around here all day. Mum would love that wall garden. She could put it on her porch and grow herbs and things.”

He smiled. “I never pictured Jackie with a green thumb.”

“Not at all. Houseplants maybe.” She laughed. “Oh, but she’d like it, y’know. It’d make her feel good.”

He looked out over the courtyard, or what he could see of it from through the wispy branches. “Just about everything the pâtisserie needs, they farm right here on those terraced bridges, and then there’s the roof where they keep the beehives. Not long from now all of Earth will adopt this strategy.”

“Figures we’d have to get our arses handed to us by Daleks to learn better how to take care of the Earth.”

“At least you lot learnt from your mistakes. Can’t say the same for the Time Lords.”

Rose looked to him with sympathy, and a little bit of regret. She turned the stone over in her hand. “M’ not sure how I feel about Telja. D’you trust her?”

“I trust the Shadow Proclamation. There’s a reason they gave us that stone and not her. Would’ve been a lot easier to just let her do it, right?”

Rose tilted her head. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“It makes you uncomfortable, does it? The perception charms she has.”

“Oh, god, yes. Doesn’t it for you? I mean you were also mad for her.”

“I’d prefer that it didn’t have that particular side effect. At least it goes away when she does.”

Rose put the stone back into her pocket. “No one else seemed to be fluttering eyelashes at her though, thought that was a bit odd.”

“Not something we’d pick up on if we’re focused on her. Anyway, ehm, I owe you a chat about… about this whole mess, don’t I?” He ran a hand through his hair and blew his fringe with an exhale.

“Oh, yeah.” She turned so she faced him more, but kept her attention focused on the blade of grass she’d been picking at.

He bought a few seconds to collect his thoughts by picking a willow leaf from her hair. She swayed toward his hand, so he used that moment to tuck a few strands of hair back into a bobby pin. “It sort of didn’t mention you, given that you weren’t there at the time. The psychic paper. Then when I brought you up, Ezio asked if you were my wife and I just said yes because he mentioned he was looking for a nice couple to help him around the place.”

Instead of getting cross with him as he’d braced for, concern shone in her eyes. “Maybe he knew something was up with his health already.”

“Yeah. But all the stuff about you being my assistant, and the other details—”

“How we’re from Beauvais. How we’ve moved here ‘cos it’s a good place for a family?”

“Right. That was, ehm, my fault. I was getting into the role, I suppose, didn’t think about what you’d prefer and wasn’t expecting them to essentially shove us into a bed together.”

Rose resumed picking at another blade of grass. “It’s a comfortable bed.”

“Is it?”

“Where’d you sleep? Or maybe you didn’t.”

“I read in the common room. The entire library in one night.” He winked at her.

She playfully rolled her eyes. “Showoff. You gonna do the same thing tonight then?”

“I, um...Ezio was up last night at one point. I didn’t think of it at the time, but it might’ve been on account of his poor health. He joined me for a few minutes as he smoked a pipe. I told him it was a bit difficult for me to sleep in a new place so I left the room as to not disturb you, but I dunno if I can get away with it again. Might have to curl up in the ol’ papasan.”

“If you like sleeping in a lumpy bowl. The bed’s like a dream.”

He looked at her curiously, afraid to presume too much about her persistence on the comfort of the bed. “Want to walk with me to the chocolatier? I’ve got to pick up some ingredients there for ganache.”

“Do I ever.”

They stood with the support of each other, and made their way down one of the pathways to a garden gate. The matter of the bed’s comfort and Rose’s presence under the warm blankets stuck in the Doctor’s brain the remainder of the stroll to the chocolatier.


End file.
